


Salt and Burn

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Series: Dean Winchester and Donna Hanscum [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean and Donna go on a simple salt and burn.





	Salt and Burn

 

“That was exhausting,” Donna sighed, tossing the shovel over her shoulder. She put her foot in Dean’s hands and let him boost her out of the grave, then she reached down and took his hand, helping him to climb out. “And gross.” She nodded at the pile of skeletal remains in the coffin. “Hard to believe that pile of goo is causing all this trouble.”

“Hopefully it’s the pile of goo,” Dean chuckled. “The pile of goo and these baby teeth.” He rattled the small jar in his hand and tossed into the grave. “We’ll salt and burn it, then head back to the motel, wait and see if things go back to normal.” He pushed himself to his feet, dropped a kiss to the top of Donna’s head, and grabbed the can of gasoline. He set it down beside her and nudged her with his foot.

“Let’s go, gorgeous,” he murmured. “No sitting on the job.”

Donna sighed and hauled herself to her feet, brushing her hands off on her jeans. She grabbed the salt while Dean poured gasoline over the corpse. As she turned, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement. She reached for the iron crowbar Dean had given her, but she wasn’t quick enough. The entity hit Dean, sending him flying, crashing into a headstone, falling in a heap, his leg twisted awkwardly beneath him.

“Dean!” she yelled.

“Burn it!” he replied, throwing the book of matches towards her.

She scooped it up and raced back to the grave, flinging the salt over the gasoline soaked corpse. She heard a gunshot behind her, making her flinch. Another gunshot, a few feet to her left, the ghost disappearing as Dean’s salt rounds hit it. She lit a match, then sparked the others, setting the entire book aflame before dropping it in the grave. She jumped back as the flames licked up the side, watching in awe as the ghost that had been coming for her disappeared in a flash.

She breathed a sigh of relief, even as she hurried to Dean’s side, dropping to her knees beside him. 

“Shit, Dean, are you alright,?” she mumbled, tucking her arm under him and helping him to his feet. She got a good look at the jagged piece of wood sticking out of the ground, wood with blood on it.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, wincing painfully when he tried to put weight on his right foot. Two steps and he was down, hitting the ground, cursing like a sailor the second he hit.

“You’re not fine,” Donna snapped. “For pete’s sake, you can’t even walk.” She eased herself under him, pulling his arm over her shoulder, half helping, half dragging Dean to the Impala parked on the far side of the cemetery. She had to stop a couple of times to catch her breath.

“Forget crossfit, I’m just gonna drag your ass around a cemetery a couple of times a week,” she grumbled.

Dean chuckled and muttered something about being fine and her just being stubborn. Donna ignored him. She chanced a glance down at his leg, inwardly groaning at the sight of his blood-soaked jeans. He was definitely not fine.

Once they reached the Impala, Donna propped Dean against the side of it and reached for the passenger side door.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” she said. “I’m helping you into the car.”

“On the wrong side,” he scoffed. “Help me around to the driver’s side.”

“Um, no,” Donna shook her head. “Look at your leg, Dean. You’re not driving anywhere.”

“So who’s gonna drive?” He seemed confused.

“You’re losing too much blood, Winchester. Your brain isn’t functioning properly,” she muttered. “I’m driving.”

He opened his mouth and she knew he was going to argue, use some lame ass excuse to keep her from driving his Baby. She knew how possessive he was of his damn car, knew that he hated to let anyone, even Sam, drive it. She’d never even sat behind the steering wheel. Not once.

“Donna -”

“Don’t say it, Dean,” she cut him off. “Not if you know what is good for you.” She yanked open the door and pointed at the seat. He limped along the car, holding the roof to keep himself steady, then he lowered himself inside. He pulled the keys from his jacket pocket and held them out to her. Reluctantly.

She leaned down, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him. “I’ll be right back.” She slammed the door and hurried back into the cemetery. Fifteen minutes later, she was back at the Impala. She opened the trunk and deposited everything inside - shovels, gas can, the crowbars. She took a minute to catch her breath, running a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, before slamming the trunk and moving around the car to the driver’s side. She willed her hands to stop shaking before dropping inside.

Dean was sprawled across the seat, head on his jacket, leaning against the window, eyes half closed. She thought he was asleep until he spoke.

“We good, gorgeous?” he mumbled.

“We’re good,” she replied. “How’s the leg?”

“Hurts,” he muttered, wincing as he shifted.

“Fifteen, twenty minutes,” she said. “Can you hold out a little longer?”

“I’ll survive,” he nodded. “Just be careful with my car.”

Donna chose to ignore his comment, instead she started the Impala and flipped on the radio, turning the volume up so she wouldn’t have to listen to Dean comment on her driving. She eased down the winding roads of the cemetery, taking her time, getting a feel for the powerful, black car. It was huge, she felt like she was driving a tank, and maneuvering the corners was interesting; it was definitely different than driving her police cruiser, that was for sure. By the time she reached the main road back to town, she was feeling pretty confident, accelerating quickly, cruising the road a couple of miles over the speed limit.

To her surprise, Dean hadn’t commented once on her driving. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, expecting him to be asleep. He was still lying against the door, head on his jacket, but he was watching her, a smile on his face.

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She always got flustered when Dean looked at her like that, like she was the most important thing in his world, like the only thing that mattered to him was her. She didn’t know what to say, or how to act.

“Stop staring at me,” she whispered, staring at the road.

“I like staring at you,” Dean chuckled. “Especially when you blush.”

“You’re making me blush by staring at me,” she shook her head. “Knock it off.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, but she did notice that he turned his head and looked out the window, only glancing her way every now and then.

“You’re doing fine, you know,” he said after a few minutes, so quietly she almost missed it. “You can drive my Baby any time.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the motel parking lot, taking up two spots. She was out of the car before Dean had moved, rushing to open the door before he could. He groaned as she helped him from the car, and this time, he didn’t argue when she put an arm around him and helped him inside. 

He fell to the bed, pulled a pillow under his head, one arm thrown over his eyes, grunting incoherently when Donna tried to talk to him. She left him alone, for a few minutes anyway, while she grabbed the first aid kit and some towels and washcloths from the bathroom. She sat on the bed by his feet and eased off his boots, then she unbuttoned his jeans, tugging them down, wincing when she finally got a good look at Dean’s leg.

He had a jagged four or five inch gash on his calf, deep, deeper than she’d thought. It was going to need stitches, that was for damn sure. She moved his leg, adjusting it so she could clean it. She kept an eye on Dean as she wiped the dried blood from it, grimacing every time he did, biting the inside of her mouth to keep quiet.

“Does it need stitches?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” she replied. “A few.” 

It took her nearly twenty minutes to get the stitches in, a feat she was surprised to accomplish in such a short time. Dean barely moved, something she  _ wasn’t _  surprised about, not with the number of scars covering his body. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Once she had finished, had the wound bandaged, she was finally able to relax, blowing out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She left Dean to rest while she cleaned up, first the implements of her work as a doctor, then herself, running the water as hot as she could stand it, scrubbing the blood from her hands, and the smoky corpse smell from her hair and skin. She didn’t get out of the shower until the water ran cold.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, it looked like Dean was asleep, lying on his side, the blankets pulled up to his chin. Donna smiled to herself, finished putting her still damp hair in a bun on the top of her head, clicked off the light, and climbed into the bed beside Dean.

He wasn’t asleep; the second her head hit the pillow he was wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He rained kisses over her face, his hand sliding beneath her shirt, warm on her bare skin. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” she asked.

“Taking care of me, taking care of my Baby,” he replied. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m pretty sure I love you even more now than I did before.”

“Yeah?” Donna giggled.

“You did great with her,” Dean said. “It was kinda hot.” He caught her lips in his, kissing her for a long time, both of them breathless when they broke apart.

She melded herself to him, humming in the back of her throat, her arms sliding around his neck, her fingers running through his hair, her face pressed to the side of his neck. They stayed like that until sleep caught up with them.

 


End file.
